


Let the Strings Sing

by yuuago



Category: A Redtail's Dream (Webcomic)
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Dreams, Friendship, Gen, Magic, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-11 01:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuago/pseuds/yuuago
Summary: Tuomi searches for a song that he heard in his dreams, and tries to do something that should, by rights, be impossible.





	Let the Strings Sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TereziMakara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TereziMakara/gifts).



> Dear recip - I'm so glad you requested Tuomi and Hare; I love their friendship. :D I hope you'll enjoy this little bit of magic. Cheers!

_I'd like to try something lighter_.

It had been just a thought, a half-formed idea when he realized that his guitar was beyond repair.

But the more Tuomi thought about it, the better it sounded. And he knew exactly what he wanted.

The kantele _was_ lighter. It fit easily into his hands, and it felt familiar, too, which was a little weird, because he hadn't ever played one in his life.

That didn't matter. Somehow, it felt _right_.

As he took it home on the bus from Mikkeli, Tuomi vowed that he'd never let his sister get anywhere near it.

* * *

When the snow was gone, he started playing it outside. Out in the woods. Out in the forest.

He liked the freshness of the air, the bright green shoots springing up around him. Playing his music, surrounded by the trees, plucking out notes while breezes teased his hair, all of it felt right.

And being away from home meant he wouldn't get interrupted. Wouldn't hear any knocks on his bedroom door, wouldn't have anyone calling him. _That_ was important.

That didn't mean he didn't have an audience. 

The hare came, and the hare listened, and Tuomi didn't mind _his_ company.

* * *

The kantele sang, pouring its notes out into the air. Every day, as long as he could find the time. And after a while, he got good at it. Really good, as far as he was concerned.

The hare thought so, too. He would have stayed away otherwise. Right?

Tuomi didn't think of it as practice. It was just playing. Just coaxing those notes out, making the kantele spill its song. It was fun. That was what it was.

He went into the forest with the kantele in its case slung over his shoulder, and his pockets full of carrots.

* * *

In his dreams, he plucked his strings, and he sang.

He sat in the forest, and the hare was beside him, and he played his music, and he sang.

He sang his friend into a new form, sang him until he stood on two feet, sang him until he became a person, a human boy close to his age, a human boy with soft hair and long eyelashes.

Tuomi woke, and breathed deeply, and stared at cold splashes of moonlight on his ceiling.

The song played over and over in his mind. He hummed, trying to commit it to heart.

* * *

In the morning Tuomi packed a lunch and his kantele, and set out into the light.

The forest path was bright before him. Dappled with sunlight, edged with wildflowers.

He ducked into the trees and went to his clearing.

The hare was there.

Tuomi sat, and he played, and he sang. He searched his mind for the words, searched his heart for the song, and tried to grasp it, tried to pull it from the air.

But the song was just a song, the music was just music, and the hare was just a hare.

Tuomi stroked its ears, and sighed.

* * *

In his dreams, he played his kantele, and he sang.

The hare sat beside him, and he was a boy again, a boy with long hair and soft eyes. But he was a hare at the same time; he was both. Somehow Tuomi felt this made complete sense.

When Tuomi stopped playing, he set his kantele aside, and the boy who was a hare rested his head on his lap.

"Try again," the hare-boy said. "Nobody figures things out the first time, anyway. Try again."

And he sighed as Tuomi stroked his hair, and tilted his head into that touch.

* * *

And he tried again.

Every day, he tried again.

Tuomi went into the forest. He took his kantele. He went to his clearing, and he played, and he sang, reaching into his heart for the song that he knew was there, that he felt was there.

But the song stayed a song, and the hare stayed a hare, and that was that.

His playing improved, though. At least there was that.

At night, he stared out at the sky, and wondered if it was all for nothing.

It was pretty weird, wasn't it?

Still, he had to try it again.

* * *

In his dream, he walked.

He slung his kantele case over his shoulder, and he walked through the forest, not knowing what he was looking for, but knowing he would know it when he saw it.

And the boy who was a hare followed him. When Tuomi glanced to him once, he walked on two feet. When he looked at him again, he was on four feet. Somehow, this made sense.

"She'll know what to do," the hare-boy said, and Tuomi didn't know who _she_ was, but he hoped his friend was right.

He woke to moonlight, smelling fresh grass.

* * *

Once again, he dreamed. Once again, they walked.

They came to a tree, and in the tree was a nest, and on the nest was an eagle, and Tuomi knew that this was who they had been looking for.

This was the _she_ they had been looking for.

He cupped his hands and called out to her, not knowing if his voice would carry, hoping desperately it would.

And he asked her to teach her the song that he sought.

The eagle raised her massive head. She looked down at him and the hare-boy.

_Yes_ , she said, and she sang.

* * *

Tuomi left the house in a rush, stepping through dew-covered grass, running through morning-bright forest, his kantele under his arm.

His heart flamed with joy that the dream had given him.

There was the clearing. There was the hare. There was his friend.

He sat down in the clear morning light, and his hands found the strings.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth and poured out his heart. The eagle's song rose, spiralling into the air.

As the notes faded, gentle hands touched his face, and warm fingers stroked his cheeks, and the forest rang with their happiness.


End file.
